


my arms were always around you

by naveed



Category: Casualty (TV)
Genre: M/M, blessings in diguise, men with feelings, tea and coffee, things that are pink but also orange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 15:09:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16266734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naveed/pseuds/naveed
Summary: oh, my loveyou thought i'd left without youbut oh, my lovemy arms were always around you





	my arms were always around you

**Author's Note:**

> for tyler and the gc when his bullshit turned into mine lol x

“It’s pink, but it’s also orange. But it’s not, like, peach colour. I don’t know, it’s like, brighter? Brighter than peach, because, you know, peach is kind of pale, isn’t it. Any other time, pink and orange are not two colours that go together. Let alone on a man of your... you know.”

A sceptical smile creeps across Iain’s face. “I’m not sure I do know.”

“Well,” Base sighs, shuffling in his seat, “the whole army-man-paramedic thing aside; it’s just not a colour I’d imagine on a bloke like you. And I’m not saying I imagine you in all black all the time but... you know. Not orangey pink.”

“I believe they call it salmon,” Iain sips his coffee, watching Base as he does. Base stares back at him blankly. “I can take if off you want.”

“No!” Base blurts, backtracking. “It’s not a problem, it’s just,” he pauses, stifling a grin; “bold.”

Iain chuckles. “We all know bold’s just the polite way of saying horrific.”

Base doesn’t correct him. He takes a sip from his own mug, closing his eyes and feeling the steam condense on his skin as he keeps the mug raised to his chin. “It’s nice,” he mumbles eventually. “Makes you look soft.”

Iain watches Base with a gentle gaze. He’s very still, clasping his mug with both calloused hands of his, breathing very slowly. His hair – orange, not pink – is poking out like straw under the hood that Iain tried to convince him to take off, but he didn’t. His legs are crossed and slowly, he lowers his mug back down to rest on his ankles. When he opens his eyes, he smiles. It’s a very calming smile. Iain doesn’t see it as often as he’d like.

“Thanks again for letting me stay.”

“What was I meant to do?” Iain asks honestly. Base meets his gaze and ponders for a moment. Something in his chest gets tighter the more he thinks about it.

“Surely I’m not the first junkie you’ve ever treated,” he sighs eventually, running a finger around the rim of his mug. Iain shakes his head. “Then what’s so special about me?”

“You just are,” Iain replies without hesitation. “And after everything,” he swallows, taking a moment, “everything you and I both went through… you could do with a break. Hell,” he scoffs sadly, “so could I.”

“So why burden yourself with me?”

Iain’s face falls. “Hey,” he breathes, moving up closer to the arm of his sofa. “Come here.”

Base looks at the empty space hesitantly, then leans forward to carefully place his tea on the floor. He stands up, straightens his hoodie, and walks timidly over to Iain. Iain takes his hand as he sits down beside him, then lets it go and instead puts his arm around Base’s shoulders. Base lifts his feet up onto the cushion as Iain gently pulls him in.

“You’re not a burden, alright?” he affirms. Base’s muscles slowly relax. “I think you’re a blessing in disguise.”

“Well, so are you,” Base murmurs, looking up at Iain so his cheek rests on his shoulder. His hood slides ever so slightly down the back of his head.

Iain meets his eyes, and they’re suddenly very close. They can feel each other’s breath gentle on their skin. Iain smells like coffee. Base smells like toast. There’s only one occasion where being so aware of someone else’s breath isn’t unpleasant, and this is it.

Actually, they’re very, very close. But neither of them move. It would be so easy, right now, for either of them to inch forward by about ten centimetres, and join their lips together, already touching body on body, and God knows how neither of them would resist, but they don’t. Both of them are scared. Too scared. Too cowardly, they think. He doesn’t want that, they think.

Base, somehow feeling braver than anything else he’s done in his life, twists and leans forward, but rests his cheek on Iain’s cheek and his chin on Iain’s shoulder. Then, he wraps an arm around Iain’s middle, and holds his orangey-pink sweater tighter than he’s held anyone. Iain holds him back with equal longing.

Neither of them really understand how much they need each other. Their paths crossed at just the right time – a time where Base needed help, and Iain needed the opposite. Iain’s seemingly unconditional kindness came through for Base when he needed a place to stay, a clean home, where he can sleep and eat in warmth and comfort. It’s his own self-esteem that makes him doubt Iain, and he can’t quite shift the thought that this is all just pity. But Iain tells him, and so he tells himself, that he genuinely means it. And really, it’s the most Iain’s meant anything for a while.

Equally, but on the other end of the spectrum, Iain needs someone like Base. Someone who isn’t going to constantly check up on him. Someone who won’t make him face consequences for emotions he can’t handle. Base seems to be a pacifier for the world around Iain. When Base is around, everything mutes. Things aren’t so overwhelming anymore. Sometimes, they feel like the only people in the world.

Both of them are incredibly lucky. How on earth did the universe pull this one off?

“Now that I think about it,” Base starts, being the first to lean out of their holds on each other. “You weren’t really a blessing in disguise. You’re a paramedic. You did… paramedic things. That’s not a disguise, really, is it?”

Iain pauses to think, then laughs. “I guess it’s not.”

He doesn’t know how long they were sat like that for, but when Iain goes upstairs to brush his teeth, his leg falls asleep on the second step.

In his bedroom, Iain pulls his sweater over his head without shutting the door. His shirt comes off with it, and he holds them both in his hand, staring. It’s pink, but it’s also orange. But it’s brighter than peach. Salmon? What kind of colour is salmon?

Iain dumps it in the landing and goes back downstairs in a grey t-shirt and boxers. Grey – now that’s a sensible colour. “You alright?” he calls, sticking his head around into the front room. Base has taken off his hoodie, matted orange hair trying, and failing, to fall in one direction. He looks over his shoulder and smiles that pacifying smile.

“Yeah,” he says, meaning it.

“My door’s always open,” Iain tells him, swinging gently on the doorframe. “And I’m happy to swap beds. If you want.”

“I’m okay,” Base reassures him with eye contact.

“Good,” Iain nods, offering a small smile back. He rubs his eyes like a child. “Night, babe,” he says, and shuts the door.

Either side of the wall, neither of them move. Oh, they both noticed it. They both heard. They both ignored it, but they’re both obsessing over it in their heads. He just called him babe. Iain stands there for three minutes before he begrudgingly heads upstairs. Then, he lies in his bed, wide awake, mentally beating the shit out of himself. 

Base, sat on the arm of his sofa-bed, is laughing quietly to himself. Wow, he thinks. Iain really is a dumbass.

He falls backwards onto the cushions with a huff so heavy he’s sure Iain could hear from his room. He doesn’t try getting comfortable; he just lies there, staring at the ceiling, playing it over and over in his head. Iain called him babe. Was it just a reflex? Probably. He was probably just being friendly. That’s probably what he calls everyone. Iain probably went straight to sleep without a second thought.

(Iain definitely did not do that. It took him ten minutes to even get under the covers.)

Base is thinking about their conversation. Iain has offered to give up his bed every night so far, but Base had always assumed it was politeness up until now. Would he actually do it? Would he think it weird of Base to ask?

He thinks back to what Iain said on the sofa. What else was I supposed to do? Iain wasn’t just going to leave him sleeping rough. He always tried to help. He still tries. Sure it was his job, but it’s not anymore. As hardened as he seems on the outside, all Iain needs is the right person to bounce off, and things get better for both of them. Iain doesn’t just want Base around – he needs him.

Base opens the door and creeps upstairs, breathing shallow and stomach twisted. He’s one stuffed puppy away from feeling like a child. Dumbass, he thinks, about himself.

Iain’s door isn’t shut all the way. A dim light is on inside, casting a thin orangey-pink line across the small landing. Base sticks his foot in the light, like he’s testing the waters. Go back downstairs, Base. You can’t just kick him out of his own bed. He was just being polite, he didn’t actually mean it.

Just as he turns back around, the strip of light on the floor gets wider. Base stops in his tracks with a deep breath.

“You alright?”

Iain is stood in the doorway when Base looks at him. He’s not angry. He’s not weirded out. His face is completely soft, kind, and sincere. Base opens his mouth but his words get caught in his throat. All he can do is cough, loudly, and blush.

“Do you wanna sleep in here?”

“Yeah,” Base whispers, glancing behind him nervously. It’s then he sees it – albeit more orange in the lamplight – Iain’s sweater, hanging over the top of the banister. Iain steps back into his room without further question, but Base goes the opposite direction, and picks up the jumper. As he does so, Iain’s t-shirt slides out from inside it. Base pulls them apart and leaves the shirt where he found it. He runs his thumbs in circles on the orangey-pink fabric. Then, he carries it into the bedroom.

Iain glances at him as he messes about with the pillows, but Base can’t make eye contact. The jumper has that feeling in his hands that he might as well be carrying a bubble full of feathers. His own t-shirt suddenly feels very crass. Iain messes with something on his bedside table, and while his back is turned, Base puts it on.

When Iain turns back around, he smiles. Not angry. Not weird. “Looks better on you,” he says. “Matches your hair.”

Base doesn’t reply. He’s not used to this. He’s never been the subject of what Iain so clearly feels towards him; such off-handed affection, yet so strong that even such a small comment about his own hideous clothes makes Base’s heart swell. He’s not used to someone caring. And Iain cares so, so much.

“Come on, get in,” Iain says, stepping back from the bed.

“Wait,” Base says, approaching from the other side. “You don’t have to go.”

Iain looks up at him. “Don’t I?”

Base takes a deep breath. “No, I mean,” he gestures to the sheets, avoiding Iain’s eyes; “it’s a double bed. So if you don’t wanna sleep on the couch, then… you can stay.” Base glances up for a second, then back down at his feet.

“Do you want me to stay?” Iain asks. He’s secretly hoping for a yes, but not because he doesn’t want to sleep on the couch.

Base doesn’t reply, but goes and sits on the edge of the bed. He pulls the sleeves of the sweater over his hands. The inside is even softer than the outside, warm and comfortable, and smelling like home. Base shuffles up the mattress, swinging his legs over until he’s sat against the headboard. Iain is still stood watching him, but his stomach is doing backflips. He just wants to cuddle into his side and protect him. Be protected.

Base looks up at Iain and smiles genuinely. And when it’s genuine, it’s contagious. Iain gets in beside him and pulls the cover over them both.

It’s nice, actually. A bit strange. It’s been a long time since Iain has shared a bed with someone else – let alone another man – but it’s nice, more than anything. Iain, against all odds, turns and gets comfortable on his side. This time, Base is the one staring.

“You called me babe.”

Iain’s heart rate instinctively speeds up. “I did not,” he mutters defensively. “I said Base,”

“You so said babe,” Base laughs, glancing down at Iain with a shit-eating grin. Iain scoffs at him, hesitates for a moment, then scoffs again.

“That’s wishful thinking, that.”

“Bullshit!” Base laughs, smile the widest Iain’s seen so far. His cheeks reach up under his eyes and a million tiny creases form around his features. Iain can’t look away, but he can hit him in the chest. Vantage point. Base exclaims exaggeratedly.

“Come on,” Iain chuckles, “lie down properly.”

Base goes shy again, but shuffles onto his side until he’s face to face with Iain. He studies his face; all his hard edges are soft. Warm, comfortable, and smelling like home. They breathe in at the same time, and the calmness washes over them. The gentle heaviness of Iain’s duvet brings Base down to earth, and for the first time in a very, very long time, the realness of his surroundings isn’t so scary.


End file.
